The Vampire & Her Witch

The atmosphere in the Great Hall had become incomparably heavy.

For a moment, the banter between Ashlynn and Owain, barbed as it had been, gave everyone in the Great Hall a glimpse of the couple they had been, reminding everyone of the years they’d spent courting one another before their tragic marriage nearly a year ago.

Now, however, as Sir Gilander and Sir Garrik worked to finish securing Owain’s blue and yellow tabard in place and locking the segments of his armor together, Ashlynn stood before them as a fully armored avenger, and no one could ignore the hatred that burned between these two.

Half an hour ago, they’d listened to testimony and sat through the proceedings of a court making formal judgments. At the time, even the most shocking of accusations had started to feel distant once the heartstopping terror of the Inquisition’s fiery attack had been replaced by the more restrained rhythm of a trial.

Now, however, most of that restraint had fallen away, leaving behind a woman dressed in vintage armor, worn and battered as if she’d walked through dozens of battlefields to reach this point, facing her husband with a sword forged from the legendary weapons carried by his honored ancestors.

”High Priest Aubin,” Ashlynn called while she waited for Owain’s men to finish adjusting his armor. ”My husband has called for a trial by combat before the Holy Lord of Light. Can you stand witness for us?”

”Me?” Aubin said, momentarily taken off guard as he turned to Ignatious and Diarmuid sitting next to him. ”Surely the Inquisition should...”

”I can’t remain neutral in this, Brother Aubin,” Ignatious said, looking at Owain with dark eyes that smoldered with the first hint of real fury that he’d displayed since this night began. ”I owe too much to Lady Ashlynn and follow her too closely to spoil a moment this important to the march and the people who live within it.”

”Better that you bear this burden,” Ignatious said, giving the white-haired priest an apologetic look before he glanced at one of the Blackwell Templars. ”Sir Beathan, please, take Brother Aubin’s side and keep him safe.”

Something extraordinary would have to happen for a witness like Aubin to be harmed in the course of a duel between two knights, but Beathan stood readily and helped the aging high priest to his spot at the head of the Great Hall. From the way he carried himself, the young templar was more than ready to intervene if the duel grew so out of hand that it threatened the priest who had done so much to care for Lady Jocelynn in the days since she escaped the Lothian dungeons.

As Aubin stood before Ashlynn and Owain, he couldn’t help but compare the people they’d become to the ones he’d presided over just nine months ago on the day of their wedding. Owain had looked brighter then, focused on beginning a family of his own before the Holy War ahead. He’d looked like the hope of the march.

Now, while the strength and sharpness remained, the veneer of hope had been worn away, leaving a man who felt like a sharpened sword, ready to behead friend and foe alike.

But even the brutal reality of the murderer beneath Owain’s charming mask didn’t shake Aubin’s heart the way Lady Ashlynn did. To see a woman who had been so gentle and kind, filled with desire to help not only her own family and her husband’s, but all the people of Lothian March, come to this point...

To see a Saintess rise and find her so driven by hatred and fury for the man who had tried to murder her that it all but overwhelmed even her righteousness to seek justice for Owain’s many crimes...

Even if she weren’t a Saintess, it would have been a tragedy to see a woman like Ashlynn transform so much, so quickly. For it to happen to one of his faith’s most sacred spiritual leaders left the High Priest shaking his head at the idea that he could somehow be ’neutral’ in the face of Owain’s blasphemy.

”Beneath the Sun and Stars,” Aubin said formally as Gilander and Garrik finished with the last fasteners on Owain’s armor. ”The Holy Lord of Light bears witness to all our deeds, great and small. He sees our triumphs and our failings as we struggle toward the Heavenly Shores, and he knows the truth of our hearts even when our actions are incomprehensible to our peers.”

”Tonight, beneath these stars and beneath this roof, Lord Owain Lothian stands accused of crimes against his father, his wife, his vassals, and the people of Lothian and Blackwell alike,” Aubin said, speaking with the same steady, even cadence he used when speaking from the pulpit. ”He has invoked his right to trial by combat, and Lady Ashlynn Blackwell has accepted his challenge in the place of any champion she might have called. Their swords will speak for them. Their bodies will be the vessels through which the Holy Lord of Light renders His divine judgment.”

Aubin’s eyes flickered between them, from the man in the dark, fluted plate to the woman in the older, lighter armor, and his hand closed briefly around the radiant sun pendant at his throat.

”Light, show us the way,” Aubin prayed solemnly. ”Let the truth of their deeds be known by the strength of their arms, the steadiness of their hearts, and the will of the Holy Lord of Light. So it has been done since the days of the Great Prophet and the Saint Teacher, and so it shall be done tonight!”

The sound of steel rasping against leather filled the air as both Ashlynn and Owain drew their weapons while their squires and seconds retreated to the side.

Ashlynn’s world was even smaller now, narrowed to the muffled sounds of the Great Hall through the padded arming cap and smooth, rounded helm that covered her head, and the narrow field of view she could see through the slits in her visor. She could feel her own breath, hot on her face as she brought the point of Water’s Edge into view, taking a ready stance against the man she’d come so far to kill.

Owain’s posture was domineering from the start, his sword held in a high guard, ready to come crashing down with all the strength of his body. It was exactly the sort of opening Ashlynn expected from a man who had spent his life honing the aggressive, committed style of swordsmanship demanded by Mountain Breaker...

Only, the sword in his hand wasn’t Mountain Breaker at all. It was a simpler, plainer weapon that Ashlynn had seen several times throughout the evening without truly registering as distinct from the weapon she expected him to bear.

”Did someone break your sword as well, Husband?” Ashlynn taunted as Aubin pulled back from the duel. ”Did you have to borrow one instead?” She framed the question to be as humiliating as she could, but the answer, if she could get one, was actually important. If Owain had changed out his sword....

”Fallen Claw was a gift from my father,” Owain said. ”A pure killing tool for the Holy War ahead and the perfect blade to kill a witch!”